by Marie Harte
Creations Collection 2
Marie Harte
Collection 2
Creations Series
This collection includes Creation’s Control and Caging the Beast, two sexy sci-fi m/m romances.
Creation’ s Control Dreyk knows what it’s like to have the needs only a Creation can experience. With the help of some tough love, he’s sure he can show Ryen a measure of peace…and love. A m/m romance.
Caging the Beast Created to serve, battling to love. Enslaved, enraged, and ready to fight for freedom, two men who are more than they seem find a love that will set them free. A m/m romance.
Creations Series
The Perfect Creation
Creation’s Control
Creating Chemistry
Caging the Beast
And the tie-in LIFE IN THE VRAIL series
Lurin’s Surrender
Thief of Mardu
Engaging Gren
Seriana Found
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and plot points stem from the writer’s imagination. They are fictitious and not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Creations Collection 2
Copyright © December 2020, 2017
by Marie Harte
No Box Books
Cover by Cosmic Letterz
All Rights Are Reserved. None of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for reviews or promotion. http://marieharte.com
For exclusive excerpts, news, and contests, sign up for Marie’s newsletter. https://bit.ly/2Mk5Tqz
Contents
Creation’s Control
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Caging the Beast
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Also by Marie Harte
About the Author
Creation’s Control
Creations Series
1
Planet Mardu, the eastern territory,
Year 3955
Three blood-red moons hung low in the sky, bringing light to the black reaches of Easfra’s seedy port. Several run-down transports, smuggler trawls, and a slave ship docked close to the outer reaches of the eastern territory. System law avoided the place like the plague, making it perfect for a man hiding his identity.
Most of the dregs frequenting the underbelly of Easfra left Ryen well enough alone. Seven feet of pure rage tended to fend off even the most curious. Unfortunately, these assholes didn’t know better than to equate numbers with success. As if he’d let a half dozen barbarians take him down after what he’d lived through.
Ryen slammed a fist into flesh and bone, adding another knockout to the two men already sprawled on the ground. The others circled him, hoping to win an impossible fight. The scent of blood made it hard for Ryen to focus on anything more than trapping his inner fury. He knew that if he gave into temptation, this small skirmish would turn from dangerous to deadly. He couldn’t risk the threat of exposure.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to hold still, absorbing the punch that met his unprotected belly. The glancing blow didn’t phase him. Piss poor fight, and it’s not giving me a damned thing.
“Fuck, he’s like a rock.” The tallest of the three opponents glared. “Damned Ragga.”
Ryen curled his lip and waited for the rest of the Cortami barbarians to attack, aware his smirk often provoked others into action. Hell, that expression had irritated his handler to no end. In his four years at the now defunct Blue Rims Laboratory, Ryen had spent more time recovering on his back than standing on his feet. Synster, that prick, got off on torture, to see how much Ryen could take. Ryen, stubborn bastard that he was, could take a lot.
“Yeah, well even a Ragga has weaknesses,” another of the barbarians said with a sneer.
Which might have been true of a real Ragga—a native of the planet that gave birth to the strongest men in the System. But Ryen was so much more. Stronger, faster, harder, his kind had such a lethal reputation that they lived with a death sentence over their heads if discovered. I should be so lucky, he thought with a snort, waiting for someone to make a move.
The man to his right swung a hard punch. Ryen blocked it and the kick from the idiot’s friend. Irritated they weren’t giving him what he needed, he growled and took the offensive.
The space dock rang with curses, scuffled footsteps, and physical blows. Ryen put down two more barbarians and approached the last, praying for something more. With frustration, he silently urged this piece of shit to fight like his life depended on it, because it very well might.
“You druns have no idea how to brawl.” Ryen dodged what would have been an ineffectual blow to the stomach and retaliated. The snap of the asshole’s ribs went a short way towards satisfying his need to destroy. Another two kicks and the barbarian dropped to the ground, his body limp, broken, and bleeding.
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about targeting people on the docks.”
Applause sounded behind him. The need to vent his anger grew, and with death on the brain, Ryen spun around to meet the next fool stupid enough to goad him.
Fuck. “Dreyk. I should have known.” If only another group of bullying thugs had found him. But the docks remained silent and empty save for Ryen, his unconscious attackers, and Dreyk.
The man stood a head shorter than Ryen, still making him taller than most of the System inhabitants Ryen met. Bright gray eyes dominated a face too rough to be called attractive by Nebite standards. Yet the scar on Dreyk’s left cheek and the rugged meanness in his gaze constantly urged Ryen to take a second look. Where Dreyk’s anger should have been, a quiet peace remained, and Ryen had a hard time fathoming the composed man before him with the dangerous Creation he knew Dreyk to be.
“Ryen, I’ve been looking for you.” Dreyk didn’t look happy as he crossed powerful arms over a broad chest. “What have I told you about keeping a low profile? You aren’t wearing your visor—”
“I can’t see with that stupid thing.”
“—and without it, your eyes, those spectacular blue orbs, proclaim your differences better than that gigantic frame. At least with your visor on we can pass you off as Ragga.”
“Whatever.” Ryen’s eyes hadn’t seemed to bother his new friends.
Dreyk vanished and reappeared in front
of him in a blink. “Not whatever.” Unlike everyone else Ryen had ever met, Dreyk showed no fear of him. “I’m telling you what you need to do to survive.”
“I’m tired of this shit. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.” I’m so hungry... Ryen didn’t know how to explain his constant need for something just out of reach. The only things that had kept him sane in the labs were his never-ending physical training and the constant orgies he’d been forced into.
It had been hard enough to sate himself with the weak women Synster brought him. At least the artificial intelligence he’d fought had stimulated him with challenge. But damned if he could find a fight or a woman who could handle him in Mardu.
“Give yourself a break, Ryen.” Dreyk’s voice gentled, doing strange things to Ryen’s balance. “You spent years being conditioned to react a certain way. You’re free now. It’ll take time to lose the urge to destroy.”
“Like you did?” He huffed, wishing for once Dreyk would tell him what his own experiences had been like. Like Ryen, Dreyk was man-made. Eyran scientists had tampered with genetics to create the perfect weapon. Unlike Ryen, Dreyk blended into society. His eyes looked normal, white around light-gray irises and black pupils. Ryen’s eyes were unique. Midnight blue surrounded lighter blue bands and pinpoints of gold.
Both dark-haired, with coppery skin and warrior builds, the men shared only a similar outward appearance. Dreyk carried an air of self-possession that Ryen sorely lacked.
Frustration rode him hard, and lately Ryen worked to stave off his rage at even the littlest thing.
“I’ve been where you are, Ryen. It’ll get better.”
Ryen clenched his fists but reminded himself that Dreyk wanted to help him, as annoying as the male might be. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t, because you won’t let me.” The normally stoic Dreyk frowned. “Every time I try to help, you tell me to fuck off. I know you’re having a hard time, but I’m not your enemy. If you keep up this attitude, I’m going to show you just where to put all that rage. You forget I’m every bit as strong as you are.”
Excitement churned. “Prove it. Fight me.” That he welcomed. Dreyk’s psychological bullshit he could do without. Ryen didn’t need understanding words and gentle reproach. He needed action, physical release. Hell, I need to get laid. It’s been too long. Yet he abstained, fearful of harming his sexual partners with uncontrollable desire.
Dreyk’s constant presence didn’t help. Around Dreyk, Ryen ached. Arousal flared whenever he neared the annoying male, which made little sense and increased his aggravation with life in general.
Dreyk raised a brow and spoke in a reasonable tone, shooting Ryen’s anger into overdrive. “I won’t fight you. I don’t need to prove anything. Ryen, the sooner you accept who you are, the better you’ll feel. Those meditation exercises I gave you will work if you let them.”
“Yeah, right.” Sit and stare at the walls? Think about nothing at all? How the fuck would that get Ryen in touch with his inner self?
“Look, why don’t you come with me to see your sister again? Erin misses you. She’s worried.”
Dreyk’s concern made him want to punch something. Ryen didn’t want concern, he wanted... Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted.
Dreyk blew out a breath. “Let’s go back to my place and talk. I want to help you, Ryen.”
I want to help you, Ryen, Synster’s voice echoed in his mind, memories of his handler shoving a needle in his arm feeling all too real. Muted screams and white-hot agony flared. Then the burning pain faded into a numbness that scared Ryen more than anything.
“Fuck off, Dreyk,” Ryen snarled. “You’re not my handler.” He slammed into Dreyk in an attempt to push him out of the way. “He’s dead, remember?”
“How could I forget?” Dreyk smiled, but amusement didn’t reach his eyes. Nor did the shove Ryen gave him make an impact. Dreyk didn’t budge one step.
“Stop being such a pussy and fight me.” By the stars, Ryen needed to let go before he exploded. As he thought it, he knew it was too late. Unable to stop himself, he threw a punch.
Not surprised when Dreyk caught his fist, Ryen waited with anticipation. Dreyk did nothing, and Ryen caught him with a knee to his gut.
Dreyk’s gaze darkened, his eyes going completely black. The light, delicious scent of pheromones pervaded, a talent Creations possessed to draw in their opponents and weaken their wills to resist. For Dreyk to let loose meant Ryen had finally breeched the wall holding back Dreyk’s precious control.
“Let it out, warrior. Go ahead, hit me.” Ryen didn’t understand his need to relentlessly pressure Dreyk into battle. An instinctual urge to master another, he supposed. Though he’d been created to submit, Ryen couldn’t bring himself to bow down to anyone not his equal.
His sister, Erin, he tolerated with love and affection, emotions that surprised him. His other sister, Anin, he wanted to protect, which usually soothed much of his aggravation. When serving and protecting others, Ryen felt at peace. Or at least, he used to.
Battling Dreyk’s lure, he pulled the male close, uncomfortably aware of the press of Dreyk’s hard body against his. Without thinking, Ryen gave in to impulse and head-butted him, knocking him back.
Dark red blood dribbled from Dreyk’s nose, and he let loose a full burst of pheromones. A clear offensive maneuver Ryen had been waiting for.
“That’s it,” Dreyk growled and clamped solid arms around him.
In seconds, black bands of time and space collapsed on them both. Ryen hated the pressure of teleportation, and Dreyk knew it. The experience ended as soon as it had begun, but instead of fighting on the run-down docks in Easfra, Ryen found himself in a shadowed room that looked like the rooms in Blue Rim he’d known all too well.
Sudden, irrational panic took hold, and Ryen began to fight for real. Dreyk met him blow for blow, blocking and countering with a sudden swift strike to Ryen’s chest that left him momentarily winded. Dreyk released more of his pheromone, and as much as Ryen wanted to counter it, he found himself lost in the scent.
2
He took another deep breath and felt Dreyk push him away. Ryen stumbled, wondering what the hell Dreyk had in his system that allowed for such a drugging effect. Before he could question the man who’d saved him not so long ago, Dreyk lifted him over his shoulder.
Shocked Dreyk could carry his weight, Ryen struggled for freedom. He stilled when Dreyk landed a hand on his ass, holding him steady. That hand warmed, and a tingling sensation spread through Ryen’s body from his ass to his groin.
What the fuck is that?
“There we go.” Dreyk’s voice sounded very far away. “I’ve been waiting.”
“Waiting for what? For me to...” He wanted to argue, to force Dreyk to hurt him, to make him feel something beside the dissatisfaction of his life, even if it meant pain. But the incredible arousal pooling within distracted him. Without meaning to, Ryen shifted his hips against Dreyk’s shoulder, groaning at the fire spearing his cock.
Dreyk tossed him onto a bed and smothered him with scent.
“What did you do to me?” Ryen rasped, blinking through slit eyes at Dreyk’s bent frame. Limp with a drowsy awareness, Ryen watched Dreyk chain his ankles and wrists to bars on the head and footboard of the bed. “Tying me up like an animal? Like I’m back home,” he muttered.
“This is your home now, Ryen.” He thought Dreyk might have sighed. “Get used to it.”
“What is this place? I’ve never been here before, have I?” Ryen blinked, trying to focus, but he could only make out shadows and darker forms against the five-walled room in which he lay.
“We’re back in Tekar. I should have done this as soon as we arrived. Stubborn drun.”
“I don’t understand.” Ryen licked his lips. A cup appeared at his mouth and he greedily drank down the sweet if overpowering liquid. Like lightning, another dose of fire shot through his groin. “Fuck. What did you give me?”
“Somet
hing you should thank me for. Something that will make you forget.”
Ryen closed his eyes, impossibly sleepy yet physically aware. Something sharp edged close to his skin. A knife. Dreyk is slicing at me? Damn it, I can barely move. He’d definitely pushed Dreyk too far. Strangely enough, the thought proved arousing, and the constricting trousers over his cock aggravated him.
He sighed with relief when the pressure eased, only to wonder why the hell Dreyk thought it necessary to remove his clothing. “Dreyk?”
“You need healing, my friend.”
“No shit.”
During his escape from Blue Rim, Ryen had killed dozens without guilt, but he hadn’t come out unscathed. The impact of a cannon grenade against his back should have ended his life. He’d nearly bled to death before Dreyk had healed him. By mixing his blood with Ryen’s, Dreyk had managed to close most of Ryen’s wounds. But after several weeks, Ryen’s internal injuries still hadn’t healed properly, and somehow Dreyk knew it.
Nearby rustling made him curious. “Damn it, Dreyk. Why can’t I open my eyes?” He sounded as sluggish as he felt.